A Darker Shade of Red
by Irving Forrest
Summary: Jasper and Tempson, two superstitious, tavern going vermin, are told three fantastic and terrible tales about the darker side of Redwall Abbey by a mysterious fox who seems to know a thing or two about the supernatural.
1. Smells like sulfur

"I'm telling you," said a smoky grey ferret to a stocky rat, "ghosts move just like smoke, subject to every breeze, floating wherever they're told to."

"Aye, never heard such a fib." replied the rat. "Everyone knows that a ghost moves just like a river, it follows the same course every time it's conjured."

"Can't be." said the ferret, shaking his head. "A ghost can appear in a place where it's never appeared before."

"Aye, but what of ghosts who act their deaths night after night?" asked the rat. "What force are they subject to?"

"Unknown ones, mate." replied the ferret. He was slender, though not tall. His eyes were black, though not as black as the circles beneath them. He was subject to superstition, and as such, talked about ghosts and death and magic with a religious fervor. His name was Jasper.

"Well Jasper," said his mate, Tempson, "You ever see a ghost?" Tempson was too a superstitious beast. He would cross himself with a protective gesture before walking by a cemetery, burnt dried herbs in his home to keep spirits away, and spoke regularly of his own encounters with them.

"Nah, but my pa did, before he passed away. In his twilight years he always saw ghosts around the cemetery outside of town while he was out walking. Said they roamed aimlessly. He would always say to me that they were like lost, smoky children."

"Aye, a poetic way to put it, for sure." said Tempson, tipping his ale to his lips. "But can you always trust a beast as old as your pa was to see things for what they are?"

"My pa's mind was sharp as a needle and his sight as clear as crystal clear right up until the day he died!" defended Jasper. "It was my ma's healing that kept him fit. She was a student of the older ways, you know?"

"Aye, so she was. Alright matey, I believe you about your pa. And what you say he saw too." ceded Tempson. "But I still say that ghosts move like rivers."

A mouse, who had been sitting at the table behind them, had decided that he had had enough of the two vermins' superstitious chatter. He slapped two bronze coins on the table, tanked his ale, and stormed out into the chilly night. Before he had left though, he muttered something loud enough for Jasper and Tempson to hear, "Stupid, superstitious vermin. Telling ghost stories like little dibbuns."

"Hmmph, Woodlanders." sneered Tempson when the mouse had gone. "They've got some nerve, acting as if they were above believing in spirits, yet always trying to evoke the name of that damned Martin." He spat into the fire, which provided the only, albeit inadequate, light in the tavern.

"Put it behind you mate." said Jasper. They both returned to drinking in silence for a moment. "Hey Tempson," started the ferret, "you think woodlanders have any ghost troubles?"

"You mean like a haunting?" asked the rat. Jasper nodded his head. "Yeah, I'd assume so. Though, I'd also assume that they'd be too proud to admit it."

There was a short moment of silence. "It'd be interesting to hear about them." said Jasper, and then sipped his ale. "Do you smell something?" he then asked. Sure enough the smell of rotting eggs had penetrated the stale air of the tavern.

"Yeah, I do." he sniffed the air. "Smells like Sulfur." The odor was thickening, as though it were radiating from some moving source creeping closer and closer to the tavern. The tavern door then opened, and a burst of warm wind came in. A tall orange fox stood at the threshold. He was dressed in heavy, mismatched traveler's robes, and seemed to emanate the strange, musty odor. He walked in, and shut the door behind him. The bones hanging from his sleeves rattled as he moved. He looked a lot like a seer, a sort of witch doctor.

He made his way slowly to the center of the tavern, bones rattling hollowly with every step. Everyone looked at him in silence. He stopped, pulled out a long dried leaf which was rolled to hold a plethora of intoxicating herbs, and stood there for a moment, as if waiting for something. "Well?" he started in a raspy voice. "Anyone gonna strike me a Lucifer?" he asked the tavern goers.

Jasper, who had been watching the fox with Tempson, was familiar with the term "Lucifer." It was a northern word for match. "I got one for you." he spoke up. The fox smiled and walked over to him. Jasper pulled a match from his pants pocket and struck it against the hard underside of the table. It sparked to life and he offered the flame to the fox.

"You, sir, are too kind." said the fox, lighting his smoking herbs on Jasper's match. He took a few puffs and blew the smoke into the air. The smoke was blue. "Mind if I take a seat, friends?" he asked. Neither Jasper nor Tempson objected. "Thank you." The fox sat, took a few more puffs from his herbs, and asked, "So, tell me. What shall we be talking about tonight?"

"Well," started Tempson. "Jasper and I here were talking about ghosts."

"Ghosts, you say!?" The fox's eyes lit up at the word. "I know a thing or two about…" he puffed his herbs and let the blue smoke escape from his mouth as he formed the word "…ghosts." The smoke wisped towards the ceiling, like a spirit rising toward the sky.

"Yeah." said Jasper. "We were wondering if woodlanders ever get haunted by ghosts, because if they did they'd never admit it to vermin like us."

The fox chuckled a raspy chuckle. "Oh, I should think that they do." He said, twirling the smoking herbs in his paw. "In fact, I could tell you boys a few stories about woodland haunts…If you'd like. Tales of witches, devils, and spirits all from a place woodlanders revere as good and holy. Redwall Abbey."

Both beasts asked the fox to tell them his stories. "Oh yes please, we'd like very much to hear them." "Yeah, tell us your tales, friend."

The fox chuckled again. "Well, ok." He inhaled a lungful of smoke, released it, and said, "My first tale is of a witch. A witch named Sister Mary…"


	2. Sister Mary the Witch

Sister Mary was a polite and talented door mouse who worked in the abbey's infirmary, caring for sick and injured beasts. She was well loved by all, especially the dibbuns whom she was very kind to, and very concerned about. Beasts spoke of her seemingly magical ability to dispel sickness, mend bones, and treat mental haunts like insomnia as if it were the stuff of legends. They did not know it, but it was.

Sister Mary was alone one day, tempting a cool summer's breeze into the empty infirmary by opening all the windows. It was a nice day, and Sister Mary loved the soft smell of nature. She pulled out a small amulet, held it to her chest, and muttered a prayer to nature, thanking it for such a wonderful day, and for blessing her home, Redwall abbey. She finished her prayer and tucked the amulet safely away in here tunic. Seer's craft, as they call it, was forbidden in the abbey. Many beasts, the abbot included, felt that it was evil, since it was so often performed by vermin. But Sister Mary didn't care. She had never hurt anyone, and the seer's craft had helped more abbey beasts than she could keep track of.

When no one was around, often in the dead of night, Sister Mary would prepare the herbs for her magical curing potions in her personal quarters next to the infirmary. She would put them into small leather pouches, put them onto her bed, and pray over them. A strange and ancient symbol was painted onto the reverse side of her blanket. This, when revealed, made her bed into a sort of alter.

Sister Mary was visited that day by a very pregnant hedgehog, Tess, who was crying openly. Tess was one of Sister Mary's closest friends, so Sister Mary stood to ask what was wrong.

"Dear friend," she asked in her soft voice, "why are you weeping?"

"Oh Mary." said the sobbing hedgehog. "I am frightened. I am frightened for my child, and for myself."

"Why so?" asked Sister Mary. She was very concerned.

The hedgehog sniffed. "When my mother gave birth I emerged sideways, and they had to cut her open to get me out. When my brother was born, he too was born sideways. But when they had to cut him out they killed my mother, and slashed my brother. He bled to death before he ever even got to live. I am afraid, friend, that the same will befall me, and my infant as it had my mother and brother before."

Sister Mary smiled and whipped a tear from her friend's eye. "Oh Tess, you know I would never let that happen. But, to ensure your good health, and to put your mind to rest, I will help you in a special way that only I can."

"Oh Martin bless you Mary!" cried the hedgehog happily. "You are a good and trusted friend!"

Sister Mary took the pregnant hedgehog into her quarters, flipped over her bed sheet, and told her friend to lie upon it. The hedgehog gasped audibly. "Mary. This is seer's craft! It is forbidden! If the abbot knew…And what of…"

"Please Tess," said Sister Mary, cutting her friend off, "I have been doing this for many seasons now, and I have always used it to help beasts, not to harm them. Have you not seen the good I can do?" she asked.

"I have, and if you say this will help then I trust you, and I will keep your secret." said the hedgehog, and lied down on Sister Mary's "altar."

Sister Mary then produced seven clay jars from beneath her bed and arranged them in front of her. She also had with her a clay bowl and a lit candle which was as white as any candle could be. She began to pray and one by one threw the herbs into the bowl until she had used all seven. Then she lit the herbs with a candle. They burned slow, and produced a light gray smoke which looked almost blue. She stood, walked over to her friend, and began to pray over her, wafting and teasing the smoke towards her friend.

"Inhale." she said. Her friend inhaled. She continued to pray for a while but then ended the ritual by sprinkling finely ground copper onto the smoldering herbs. This turned the flame green and was meant to purify the air of evil spirits.

Sister Mary told Tess that they were done, and that she would birth safely. Tess, overjoyed, hugged Sister Mary and told her that she would remember this forever, and would never tell a soul about what had transpired. With that the pregnant hedgehog left.

**

Weeks later Sister Mary was overseeing her friend's birthing. Aside from other things Sister Mary was also a practiced midwife. Tess's mate Solomon was there, and so was the abbot. The birthing went smoothly, and Tess was relieved. She winked at Sister Mary, and offered her a broad, knowing smile. Sister Mary smiled back as she wrapped the infant in a towel.

"Let me see my new abbey beast." said the abbot. He loved all his creatures, from the very oldest, to the very youngest. He smiled and offered the baby his finger. His kindly expression, however, dropped from his face. He recoiled in horror and almost dropped the infant. "Oh Martin, what has gone wrong?!" he bellowed.

Tess panicked and despite being tired from birthing, snatched her baby from the abbot. She screamed when she was what was wrong. The infant hedgehog looked up to her through its one good eye, reached for her with its three digit paw, and giggled and sputtered through a mouth which was half exposed by missing flesh. Its head was covered in dents and was raw in several places.

"Heathen! You witch!" Tess cried hysterically, pointing at Sister Mary with her hand that was not holding the baby. "You damned my child to a life of ridicule! You've cursed both him and me, you witch!" the hedgehog then began to sob.

Solomon turned away and wept too, for the infant was a male; a son, who would never be able to grow up as normal. The abbot turned to Sister Mary and asked sternly, "What does she mean, Sister?"

Sister Mary tried to answer, but was interrupted by Tess. "She practices Seer's craft father abbot! She's put a curse on my child! Come, I'll show you!" she led the abbot into Sister Mary's room, flipped over the blanket, and removed the jars of herbs and the candles from under her bed. "See, she is a vermin! A vermin who's cursed my baby!" she collapsed to the floor, baby in hold, and began to wail.

"You heathen, damn you!" shouted Solomon.

Sister Mary was scared, but couldn't say much in her defense. She had not tried to hurt the baby, and she wanted to say that she didn't, but she could never prove it. Instead she too began to cry. She begged the abbot to show her understanding, but he was cold towards her and would not hear it.

"You've ruined one life too many to be trusted. You are not welcome in this abbey. Get out!" again Sister Mary begged him to listen, but he would not listen. "Guards, help, remove this vermin from my abbey!"

Sister Mary was dragged out kicking, bawling, and begging by two stout otters. They threw her out the front gate and the abbey dwellers looked upon her with curiosity and scorn. The great wooden doors to the red sandstone abbey closed on her, never to open for her again. She scratched and pounded at the doors. She shouted and begged, but no one answered her. She had been banished.

**

That night, Solomon, who was possessed with anger and a want for revenge, set out with four other abbey beasts after Sister Mary. They eventually found her in a clearing praying to some unknown symbol that she had scratched into an oak tree. They grabbed her and she screamed and yelled but no help came. Solomon produced a rope which he had brought, and fashioned it into a noose which he then looped over her head. She sobbed and begged him for forgiveness, but he had none to give.

Some beast threw the rope over a sturdy tree branch and the other two began to hoist Sister Mary up by her neck. She sputtered, choked, and kicked. Her eyes were moist with tears and blood, which oozed out of her bursting capillaries. Solomon watched in sick delight. This was his vengeance for his beautiful son who would never be.

It took a full ten minutes before Sister Mary stopped kicking. The abbey beasts took the body down, cut it from the rope, and hurled it into the woods. There, time peeled Sister Mary's flesh from her bones, and there they remained.

Sister Mary's memory, though, did not die that night. Every year, on the anniversary of her banishment and death, her spirit returns to the abbey and pounds relentlessly on the doors. She screams and begs, but disappears when the doors are thrown open for her to return. For some beasts, like Tess, the screams were too much to bear. One day, many years later on the night of the anniversary, her husband found her hung from the door frame to what used to be Sister Mary's room. The symbol on the blanket that no one dared touch lay there, staring blankly at him.

**

"Well boys," said the fox, "what'd you think of that?"

"Is all that true?" asked Jasper. He and Tempson had accumulated a few more empty mugs since the fox began telling his story.

"Every last word." said the fox, and had started smoking another roll of herbs.

"So, did Sister Mary really curse the baby?" asked Tempson. "I mean, she didn't mean to. So what happened?"

The fox chuckled. "Oh, she cursed the kid all right." he said, blowing blue smoke. "You remember her ritual?" both Jasper and Tempson nodded. "Well, and remember this, the ritual called for iron to purify the room of spirits. Iron does that, you see. But copper, well copper's completely different. The green flame produced by smelting copper is like a beacon to spirits, they can see it for miles around. Sister Mary, even though she didn't know it, had invited every spirit in Mossflower to have at that infant."

"Why wasn't she or the mother cursed then?" asked Jasper.

"She had the pendent, and the mother inhaled the blue smoke." the fox replied as casually as if it were common knowledge.

"What demon got at the baby?" asked Tempson in a low, gritty voice.

The fox smiled and looked up from his smoking herbs. "The worst one…" Jasper and Tempson looked at each other in response to the fox's strange answer. "Ya'll still wanna hear the others?" he asked.

Both Jasper and Tempson agreed that they did. "Oh yeah mate, don't stop now." "Yeah, let's have the next one!"

The fox leaned forward. "Ok, but this next tale ain't for the faint of heart. It's about a young squirrel maiden who got lost in the woods, and what she found there…or rather, what found her there…"


	3. Sweet Basil and the Wicker Beasts

Sweet Basil picked another mushroom from the moist, moss ridden earth and tossed it into a wicker basket along with all the others. She was thirteen seasons old now, and thus old enough to go into Mossflower alone, both at her own discretion and at the request of others. She had been asked to go out today. The Abbot, Abbot Dyer, asked her to pick mushrooms for the abbey's chefs, whose entire store had been damaged by a mysterious and sudden fungus. She agreed to pick the mushrooms for the abbot, and relished the opportunity to be out on her own.

Before she departed though, Abbot Dyer warned her to be careful, and to stay to the path which was marked with heavy red stones. It was dangerous to deviate from this path, as one could get hurt. Also, and it was no secret, many beasts who did stray from the beaten path were kidnapped by vermin, and weren't seen until the skipper of otter's had discovered their bones. He always seemed to find them very promptly, and said that the disappearances were linked to vermin cultists, and that he knew roughly where they practiced their demonic craft. It was scary to think that deranged vermin haunted the woods, but that was the last thing on Sweet Basil's mind as she picked another mushroom.

Her thoughts turned to Abbot Dyer as she picked the mushrooms. He was a kind beast; understanding and caring. He always had time for his abbey beasts, especially young ones and dibbuns. He was also spry past his years, and very strong. He had once bested the tough young cellar hog in an arm wrestling contest during a grand celebration. This would not have been considered odd had the celebration not have been the abbot's fiftieth season celebration. Later, the cellar hog admitted to having thrown the match.

Sweet Basil picked a final mushroom and put it gingerly in her basket, filling it up. She heaved the load up by its handle, though it wasn't too heavy, and made back for the path. She had stopped in a clearing where the path ended to pick the mushrooms. When she had gotten back to the path she gasped. There was no longer one path, but three, all marked with large red stones. Sweet Basil had not remembered seeing those paths, and did not know which one she had come from. She did know, however, that Mossflower was east of the abbey, and that a path going west was most likely to take her home. If not, then she was sure that she would at least be able to find a beast to help her.

So, Sweet Basil chose the path to her left, which also led west, in hopes that it would take her back to the abbey. She had thoughts of reservation, but she could not let those stop her. After all, she was an adult now, and could find her way home. She thought.

She hadn't been walking for very long before she accepted that nothing looked familiar to her. She would have to try another path. She made to turn back, but froze dead still when she heard the ominous sound of rustling leaves, and cracking twigs. *Crunch, Crack*. The noise sounded like some beast walking. The pattern was that of steps. *Crunch, Crack, Crunch*. She heard the noise again, coming from the way she had traveled. She was being followed, or so she thought.

The young squirrel, shaken, turned back around and started to follow the path again. But the ominous sound of footfall was following her. As she walked faster, so did the leaves rustle and crack more rapidly. *Crack, Crunch, Crack, Crunch*. It wasn't long before she tore into a full sprint, dropping the basket of mushrooms behind her.

She didn't know if she was being followed anymore. The blood pumping in her ears drowned out all the other sounds around her. She panted hard and looked behind her, trying to catch a glimpse of who or what was following her. She saw nothing, but knew somehow that she was not alone. Her mind fashioned all manner of barbaric, tattooed vermin, stalking her; waiting for her to tire out so that they could tear her limb from limb. Her thirteen season old mind could not handle such a though, and she began to cry as she ran.

Eventually she ran straight off the path, into another clearing. She would have kept going had she not tripped on a rock in her way. She fell hard, and lay there too terrified to get up. She listened for the sound of footsteps in the forest, but heard none.

Sweet Basil was satisfied that she had out ran her pursuer, if there had ever been a pursuer to out run at all, and tried to lift herself up. Her arm, though, touched something cold and smooth. She almost dared not look, thinking that she may have placed her paw on an adder or toad, but she had not. Instead it was just a rock. And next to it was another rock. And next to that one was another rock. There was, in fact, an entire line of them. No, several lines of them, as she saw. The lines of rocks wove and crossed and created a pattern in the earth.

When Sweet Basil had gotten up she was able to survey the pattern. It was an enormous five point star, like the ones that dibbuns draw. You drew one line, and another, and another, until you had a star with an un-intentional pentagon in the middle. This one, however, was different from those. For starters, it was enormous. The stone star had to have stretched almost thirty feet from tip to tip. It was also, noticed Sweet Basil, surrounded by a giant circle of stones. It was certainly a marvel, almost pretty, thought Sweet Basil. For a moment she forgot her terror and studied the giant stone shape.

Sweet Basil then caught something out of the corner of her eye, some beast staring blankly at her from behind a tree. She quickly turned her head, but there was no beast there. She cautiously took steps towards the woods, noticing that the entire clearing was an almost perfect circle, and stared into the thickets. There, out in the woods, not fifty feet from where she was stood the likeness of some unknown beast, made out of sticks and straw.

It was like nothing Sweet Basil had ever seen. It was made with a stick that had two prongs on the end of it that stuck up like horns. It had a "face" made of bound, dried grass. Its "arms" were made of a single stick, tied near the "neck" of the "beast," so that it stretched evenly out to both sides, like it was ready to embrace you. It was mystifying, though unfortunately, frightening. The "beast" lacked any facial features. It stared eyeless at Sweet Basil; unblinking, unfeeling, and dead.

Basil could stand to look into the dead "beast's" eyes no more, and she turned to retreat back to the path. When she turned she noticed another, right next to the path, staring at her. In her haste she had missed it. She twirled all around, in every direction, and in every direction she looked she found those faceless "beasts" staring at her. Those soulless sentries were all watching her, looking into the stone star she was standing on. Again, she began to weep, but was too afraid to cry out. When she tried her voice cracked and strained. She was afraid, but couldn't take her eyes off the "beasts" for fear that they may be closer when she opened them.

What spell held her voice in was broken when she felt a strong paw grasp her shoulder and she screamed with all that her lungs were able to provide. She fell back and batted futilely at the figure standing over her until it said, "Sweet Basil. Sweet Basil, it's me, father abbot!"

Sweet Basil was overjoyed when she saw that it was. She threw herself into his arms and sobbed. "Oh father abbot!" she cried. "I'm scared, and I don't know where I am. There are beasts here, dead with no souls, and I want to leave!"

"Yes, shhhh. Don't worry dear; this place has been abandoned for years. Nothing here can hurt you." he said.

"What? By who, why is this place here?" Sweet Basil asked.

"It used to be ritual grounds for vermin. They practiced strange rituals here, and I wish to say no more." he answered.

"I wanna go home…" she moaned.

"I know you do, now come on." he said, and offered her his paw. She made to take his right paw, but could not. He was holding a basket, a basket filled half way with mushrooms.

Sweet Basil looked up at the old abbot in fright and made as if to scream, but he was upon her and covered her mouth with his paw. "Shhhh now, don't struggle." he said kindly, though his eyes were dark and grey. "Sweet Basil, don't you trust your abbot?" he said as he pulled out a long knife. "Shhhh, go to sleep Sweet Basil, everything will be better in the morning." he said, drawing the knife closer to her throat. She screamed a muffled scream and kicked wildly, but the kindly old abbot just smiled. He smiled with dead eyes.

**

In that clearing today, though the abbot is long dead, you can see a wicker beast, one of many, which looks newer than all the rest. Its dead eyes stare towards the center of the pentagram, though underneath it are the remains of young female squirrel. Her spirit struggles and cries to be free from her hellish prison, to tell the world of the abbot's evil, but she cannot be free. The wicker beasts will not let her go.

**

Jasper and Tempson stared at the fox in wide eyed disbelief and horror. "The abbot?" asked Jasper. "He killed that poor innocent squirrel right there in cold blood?"

"Not just killed, friend, but sacrificed. The abbot worshiped a demon, you see, and fed it young souls to give him strength." said the fox. "He drew from the life force of the souls, who could never leave because of the cursed wicker beasts. They were stuck there, and still are stuck there, until the end of time. Or until someone moves the wicker beasts, but after a hundred years what are the odds?"

"That is evil…" said Tempson. He pulled out a silver coin and crossed himself. "Surely, there can be no truth to that story." He said, though was unsure of himself.

"Oh, but it is true." said the fox as he blew another puff of blue smoke. "Every last word." he said as he grinned.

"And the abbey beasts never found out?" asked Jasper. "What of the otter, who brought back the bones?"

"Bones is bones, friend." said the fox. "Who said he ever actually brought back the bones' of the sacrificed young beasts?"

"He was in on it then?" asked Tempson.

"Well, yes. Yes he was." said the fox. "But, for different reasons."

"What were they?" asked Jasper.

"He liked to eat other…" started the fox, but was cut off.

"Ok, enough, we understand." said Jasper quickly. He did not want to hear it.

"Still got one tale left boys, and this is the granddaddy of them all." said the fox. "You boys still up for hearing it?"

Both Tempson and Jasper had their reservations, but were too enticed by the promise of one last story. "Yeah, sure we are." "Uh huh mate, go ahead."

The fox grinned wickedly. "My last tale has to do with a figure you two might be familiar with. His name was Martin the Warrior, and this is the true tale about his last days of life…"


	4. St Martin and the Devil

I'd like to thank all the fine men and women who have reviewed this story, especially Abbot Langus. You've all given me the inspiration to continue this story, and the chapter after this will finish it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I know I certainly enjoyed making it, though I've enjoyed making every chapter for this story. Not one of them has been a chore to me.

Sign, your loyal servant to the pen:

Irving Forrest

P.S. You may need to be somewhat familiar with the mainstream redwall canon to understand this chapter as it leaves some ambiguity.

* * *

Sister Mary had been able to do little for Martin's insomnia. It wasn't because she didn't know how too, in fact she was a very talented healer; especially for someone so young. It was because his insomnia wasn't brought on by traditional means; restlessness, but instead by persistent night terrors which would cause the once mighty warrior to shoot up in his bed and scream to the still of the night. It was an unsettling sound, especially for the beasts close enough to hear what he would say next. Martin would begin to vehemently apologize to no one, or seemingly no one, and sob.

Sister Mary looked at the once mighty hero of the abbey, who was now grey with age and stress. "Martin," she said reservedly to the mouse in the chair by the window, "I brought you those herbs. The ones to help with your insomnia…" The ancient warrior did not respond. He was deep in thought, a million miles away from the physical goings on of the abbey.

"I will leave them here for you, alright?" she asked the unresponsive mouse. Martin could not have cared less. Even if he had though that they would help he did not think that he would have a chance to use them. Night was far away, and his time was drawing closer. Sister Mary took a last look at the supposed hero of the abbey. Age and illness could do horrible things to a beast, and healing could only do so much. It was pitiful how little healers knew.

Sister Mary left Martin and went back to the Infirmary. One day she would be able to save more lives, and to bring more comfort… but how?

**

Martin, alone again, began to think about his past. He had been on many adventures, and had lived when he was sure that he should have died. This was not one of those times though. Through the mist of his mind Martin heard a voice. It echoed in his brain, singing sweetly and earnestly. A tear came to his eye.

Come Brave warrior, come to me,

And take my hand to eternity,

"No." Martin protested. "No, please, just leave me be!" he begged quietly.

For my love you've sold's

A debt to repay

"I said leave me be god damn it!" said Martin lowly through gritted teeth. Suddenly he heard something else, something physical, and the song stopped. Martin looked over his shoulder at the young mouse who had entered his room. He was small, and had a sad, frightened look. "Hello son…" said Martin to the young mouse.

"Martin?" asked the young beast.

"Yes child?" he asked.

"My dad said you were dying. But that can't be, can it? You're Martin, you're immortal." he said.

Martin smirked. "No son, no beast is immortal."

"But I don't wanna die. I wanna be young and strong forever." said the small mouse.

"We'd all like that son, but it just cannot be." replied Martin soberly.

"Well I will… I'll find a way." said the young mouse in bold defiance of the warrior's truth.

Martin smiled again. "As all beasts your age believe." he said. "What is your name son?"

"Dyer…" responded the mouse.

"Well then, Dyer," said Martin. "I wish you luck. But be careful of how far you search. You may not like what you find, or what you must become to utilize what you have found." When the old warrior finished speaking Dyer turned to leave.

"I will not like what I must become?" he though aloud. He could only wonder what the old mouse could have meant.

**

Martin turned back to his thoughts. They grew hazy and ran together. It became very difficult to distinguish one from the other. He felt very tired, and his eyes began to sag. Then that song returned; that sweet song that flowed gracefully from the back of his mind.

Come Brave warrior, come to me,

And take my hand to eternity,

For my love you've sold's

A debt to repay,

In this abbey, dear Martin you'll stay.

When the song ended Martin's thoughts became clearer. The mist which had hung over his mind for so many years now was gone. He was young again.

"Did you like my song Martin?" asked someone beside him. Martin turned towards the voice, and saw a pretty, young mouse. His jaw dropped, but he was still able to form one word.

"Rose…"

"I wrote it just for you. Just for this moment." said Rose with a smiled. "This moment when we could be together again, after all these years have kept us apart."

Martin stared into his dead lover's eyes. They didn't reflect the compassion and warmth that he had known them to have held before she died. "I'm dead, aren't I Rose?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Now Martin," she said. "Why do you ask me a question when you already know the answer?" she smiled at Martin, but he did not smile back. Instead he was silent and grim. Rose smiled wider. "I remember a time when you asked me, do you love me Rose? But even then you knew the answer. I said, yes Martin. I love you, and always will love you, until the day that I die."

A strong breeze howled through the emptiness of Martin's room, but did nothing to ruffle the fur of the two undead mice. "Love is a powerful thing Martin." she continued. "One in love has a hold on the others soul, you know? Especially when that love is as pure and as mutual as the love we shared for one another. I held your soul, and you held mine."

Martin's grim expression turned into one of sadness and guilt. "Rose, I…"

"I held your soul… and you held mine." she repeated, interrupting Martin. "One soul just wasn't enough, was it Martin? You needed two, because after all, what are two souls when weighed against the lives of countless other innocent beasts?" she asked.

"Rose, you have to understand. What I did then I did to save hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent beasts!"

Rose did not listen to Martin. Instead she jumped off the chair and began to chant as she twirled around the room, smiling broadly and insanely.

_Martin the Hero of all that's right_

_Sold my soul,_

_To win a fight!_

_Martin the Hero of all that's right_

_Sold my soul,_

_To win a fight!_

_Martin the Hero of all that's right_

_Sold my soul,_

_To win a fight!_

Martin dropped to his knees and covered his ears. "No, no I did not!" he shouted. "No, stop it! I didn't mean to! I didn't want to!"

Rose stopped twirling and looked down at Martin. "But you did Martin." said Rose sweetly. "You sold away our souls, yours and mine, all so you could topple a fort." Long wisps of smoke rose around Rose as she continued. "Was it worth it Martin? Or has this day, looming on the horizon haunted you ever since?"

"I am a good beast." Martin said to himself more so than to Rose. "I am not afraid." he said.

"_You_ are a _good beast_? Why? Because you've helped some other beasts?" asked Rose. "Does that really make you a good beast? Or are you simply a beast who has been trying to forestall his destiny by pretending to love peace?" she smiled broadly and brought herself closer to him. Martin could smell the smoke rising off of her. "Face it," said Rose in a distorted and alien voice. "You're a fighter, a killer, and you'd do anything so that you'd get what you bloody wanted."

Martin tried to protest, but Rose would not listen and continued. "Tell me Martin, do you think that your father is proud of you?" she asked. "That's why you killed the stoat isn't it? You wanted revenge because daddy told you to go and get it! And all it cost you was two souls!"

The smoke around Rose grew thicker, and soon Martin could no longer distinguish her features. "And what about your mother," she continued. "She wanted you to love, and you sell your love away. How must she feel about you?"

"Shut up!" shouted Martin. A dark laughter emitted from the smoke, and where Rose had stood there was a new figure.

It was tall, and wore a long, dark hooded robe. Where its clothes left it bear it had neither skin nor fur. Instead, a wispy smoke clung to it, especially its face, which was not but a thick blanket of smoke with two burning lights shining though, like twin light houses shining bright in a supernatural mist. Horns busted through the hood on both sides of the creature's head, and curled like a ram's. A long, thin, smoky tail thrashed wildly behind it.

"I'm here for my second soul Martin." It said in a voice which wasn't so much a voice as it was a thought that carried through the air. Martin could do nothing but stare at the creature. He had met it once before…

"Where's Rose?" asked Martin. "Where did you send her?"

"Rose is suffering Martin. She is suffering because of you." it said coldly.

Guilt tugged at Martins heart and he wanted nothing more than to die from death. "Take me then. Bring me to Hell, I no longer care!"

The creature stared at martin through its two emotionless, glowing eyes. "But, Martin, you've already built such a fine Hell for yourself." it said. "Don't you see it Martin?" it asked. But Martin did not know what to make of the strange creatures riddle. "This is your Hell!"

The creature's words sank into Martin… This is your Hell.

**

So it goes Martin's soul is damned to walk the halls of his own abbey alone until his soul is called upon on Judgment day. His futile quest to win favor with some greater power by helping those in need still persists to this day.


	5. A Darker Shade of Red

"Well boys." said the fox. "You've been good company, you know that? Yes sir, I've been waiting a long time for someone to tell those tales too. Most beasts won't give you the time of day when you approach them with ghost stories, but you boys are different. I like you." The fox smiled, and blew more smoke from his herbs.

"Well stick around then." said Jasper.

"Yeah." said Tempson. "You make pretty good company yourself."

The fox smiled and laughed a raspy and worn laugh. "Oh boys, you don't know how much I wish I could do that."

Tempson and Jasper exchanged confused looks. "Why can't you?" asked Jasper. "I mean, if not tonight then maybe some other time?"

The fox let out a long smoke laden breath. He watched the smoke lazily rise towards the ceiling. "Just can't boys." he said. "But let me give you something, something to remember me by." And he tore off two of the carved bones which adorned his sleeves and gave one to each Jasper and Tempson. "Charms… Good ones."

"Thanks." They both replied.

"Almost Midnight." said Tempson.

The fox sighed. "Don't I know it?" he said, and was quite. When he did speak again he said "Well boys, it's been fun but I have to go."

All three beasts got up from their seats and headed out the door. It was foggy, and all manner of beasts were parading down the street in the fog. The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur. "Well boys," said the fox. "Goodbye to you now." and he left. Jasper and Tempson watched him meld into the silent parade of lonesome figures. They both wondered why there were so many beasts out tonight, especially in this heavy fog. They were all walking towards the cemetery, which was visible from the tavern. A funeral perhaps, they both thought.

They watched as the parade passed through the gates of the cemetery. Some hooded beast at the gates was ushering them in. One by one they turned into plumes of smoke, which wandered the cemetery aimlessly before melting into the ground. Jasper and Tempson caught sight of the fox, and he too looked at them. They saw him light a roll of herbs before he too collapsed into smoke and melted into the ground.

"Just like lost, smoky children…" Jasper whispered his grandfather's words silently to himself.

Jasper and Tempson stood horrified as the figures dissipated before their eyes. Soon there was only one creature left in the distance; the creature at the gate. It was tall, smoky, and had long curly horns growing from the side of its head. It closed the gate to the cemetery, and turned its head to look at Jasper and Tempson, who were the only other two creatures there. It was far away, it was dark, and they couldn't see its face. They could however, even from far away, make out its eyes. They burnt red; dark red; a darker shade of red than either beast had ever seen before.

This concludes "A Darker Shade of Red." I hope you've all enjoyed it, because I really had fun writing it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, as well as everyone who read this work chapter for chapter. If you're ever in my neck of the woods, and you happen to pass by a tavern near an old town cemetery, I hope you will stop in. There's always a tale to be told. Some especially for you…


End file.
